


The Christmas Maddness Drabbles

by stardust_made



Series: The Christmas Series [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Crack, Humour, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust_made/pseuds/stardust_made
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt "Sherlock loves Christmas and goes all out in decorating, cooking, buying presents, putting out cookies and milk for Santa (even though he eats them himself) ... This shift in behaviour first startles John but it ends up that he's swept up in the madness that is a Holmes Christmas.Bonus if other characters (Mycroft, Mummy Homles, Lestrad, Mrs Hudson) also become involved in the madness."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Maddness Drabbles

**~First of December~**

John shakes out of sleep, waving his arms like a cartoon character. He hits the lamp; it falls, smashes to pieces—yet the sound is drowned by the tune of “Jingle Bells” blaring from downstairs.

John blinks and waits to wake up from this surreal dream. When the bells on Bobtail continue to ring, however, he rushes to the sitting room in alarm.

Sherlock, curls adorned by a red and white cap, looks up from the floor where he’s sitting amidst open boxes. He beams and shouts, “December’s here, John!”

John decides he dismissed the surreal dream theory too quickly.

  
 **~Fifth of December~**

John stumbles to the bathroom after three hours of sleep, nursing a punishing hangover. Lids half closed, he runs the cold water tap, places his hands under it and shivers. He splashes his face, then gasps and swears. After the fifth splash he feels ready to open one eye.

What it meets in the mirror is…well, nothing, really, at least not in terms of reflection. But bright red tinsel is framing the mirror and the rest of the glass is covered by massive sparkling snowflakes.

He can’t possibly yell right now. But he will tonight. Not the bathroom, too. No!

  
 **~Tenth of December~**

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” John asks Sherlock at the door. Sherlock frowns at him, confused. John sighs and his eyes lift to the cap on Sherlock’s head. Sherlock begins to look up, then understanding dawns on his face.

“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “Let’s go.” He’s already hopping down the stairs.

John calls after him, mortified. “Sherlock, you—”

“Just let him wear it,” Lestrade says. “He has, ever since I’ve known him. We’re used to it now.”

John boggles. Lestrade casts the empty stairs a shifty look.

“Listen,” he murmurs. “Do you know if his brother gets like that, too?”

  
 **~Fifteenth of December~**

John sees the crowd and his stomach drops; his feet speed up, while his eyes scan for emergency services.

Closer, he notices the high number of children and suspicion starts creeping in, bringing about relief.

By the time he’s reached their building, the relief is about to be replaced by a headache.

Three men are dismantling scaffolding. Job done—the tackiest display of Father Christmas and his sleigh is plastered over the entire façade of their house.

“Excuse me,” John tries to push past. “Can I—Excuse—Sorry, I live here.”

“I’m sorry, too, mate,” says the oldest worker.

  
 **~Twentieth of December~**

“Your sock is bigger than mine.”

“Really, John? You’re a doctor—you should know size doesn’t matter.”

“No, er—I mean, it’s not fair.”

“Very few things in life are.”

“Yeah, yeah; don’t change the subject. What I want to know is why your sock could easily hold, oh, I don’t know, a new microscope, while mine has space only for a toothbrush.”

“You’re smaller than me. I thought it fair to keep the ratio.”

“Nah—Nice try, though. I’m swapping the socks.”

“Fine. I don’t mind.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I know that good things often come in small packages.”

  
 **~Christmas Day~**

John has had some wine so that’s probably why he keeps feeling _something_ brush the top of his head every time he walks into a room.

Sherlock follows him about everywhere and that’s messing with John’s concentration, too. Sherlock has pink spots on his cheeks, and his eyes are bright, and it might be the wine talking, but he looks like the loveliest thing ever.

John heads for the kitchen and there’s the brush again. He finally lifts his eyes, irritated—

Oh. Right.

He slowly turns around.

“Mistletoe,” Sherlock says from very close, eyes hopeful.

John lifts on his toes.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the fantastic [](http://disastrolabe.livejournal.com/profile)[**disastrolabe**](http://disastrolabe.livejournal.com/). Written for ladyprydian.Original entry [over here at my Livejournal.](http://stardust-made.livejournal.com/40198.html#cutid1)


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